Electricity Failures and Falling Walls

Usually we leave between 6:30 and 7. At 6:25, I still hadn't run off pictures of Joshua and the Battle of Jericho, so I called Josephina and asked her to pick me up at the Shell station, instead of my apartment, and ran down to make copies for the kids to color. By 6:35, I was waiting outside. Instead of the van pulling up, Mario Luis came bounding across the parking lot, thrilled to report a delay in our departure. The old van had finally had it and was being repaired in a garage a block away. I absentmindedly asked the Lord to heal our van. An hour later, we were off.

Instead of disembarking at Ramon's, like we normally do, we sardined ourselves together to make room for 10 more women and children, a third of whose breasts were nursing tiny babies. After about 7 minutes, we stopped in the middle of what appeared to be a vacant lot. I had thought we were to be going to the home of a new believer. She'd invited us to do the study there, that week, to include her "marido," the man with whom she´d been living but never married. I heard some murmurs about electricity, and then followed the others out of the van. In the 7 minutes between our departure and arrival, a storm had arisen. Thus, as soon as I climbed out, my eyes were violated by hundreds of particles of swirling earth. Upon opening them, again, I looked above to see trees' branches being violently whipped by the angry wind. It was an awesome night. Unfortunately, the wind had knocked out the house's 2 lights (which is why I hadn't noticed it, earlier), so we weren't sure how to proceed. After some time of huddling together to protect the babies from the beating earth, Augustine called us over to the house, where we joined hands to pray. The prayers of these young believers were as simple as the storm was ferocious. They recalled Jesus quieting the storm. They thanked God for forgiving their sins. They humbly committed their lives to proclaiming His glory. Then we began to sing songs of joyous praise and heartfelt adoration. Then the lights came on.

We thanked the Lord, and prepared for the study. The adults sat in a circle in the outdoor quincho, while the kids and I circled around a tiny folding table in the outdoor "kitchen." After setting it up, our hostess ceremoniously covered it with a table cloth. I noted the irony in this kind gesture, given the dirt floor, pots and utensils hanging randomly from the ceiling, and chickens running underfoot. But it was beautiful. Amidst the howling wind, I bent down and began asking my kids questions about our love story. We reviewed the love of God, independence and separation of man, and the story of the exodus, which demonstrated both God's faithful love and uncontested power. Then we acted out the story through the mime that we'd been building, each week. Upon discovering that none of my co-leaders had read the assigned story, I determined to tell it, myself, going heavy on action and light on words.

So we stood up and everyone "wandered" through the kitchen to symbolize Israel's 40 years in the desert. Then we all cut our throats to show the death of Moses and that entire generation. Then we were ready for Joshua. So we left the kitchen area and formed a circle around a large pile of bricks that were lying about 5 meters away. The bricks represented the walled city of mighty Jericho. I gave the instructions- we'd march around it in silence 6 times, and then when I gave the signal on the 7th vuelta, we'd all shout, "God is strong! God is strong!" and blow our pretend trumpets. They LOVED it! The little girl behind me couldn't stop giggling (during our 6 silent laps), so I kept turning around to shush her. That was a nice touch, I think. Finally, the seventh time came, and we shouted and trumpeted our little heads off. And do you know what happened next? The wall fell down! (not really. use your imagination), and we rushed into the city and killed everybody (not really. we just mentioned that that's what the Israelites did). The end. It was a little anticlimactic, but that's okJ So then we went back into our outdoor kitchen and I passed out crayons and pictures for everyone to color. Now, Paraguayan children aren't used to our North American classrooms with resources galore, so they are amazing improvisers. 4 or 5 kids used the little table. A few used their own laps. A few sat on the floor and used their chairs. And one used the back of her little brother, who sat on her lap. It was pretty amazing. I've come to love their lack of expectations and delight with whatever they are given. So they focused on their pictures while I looked over their shoulders and praised their choice of colors. They are always so proud of themselves; I love it! At one point, 2 of my favorite little girls wandered off to the side of the house. I found them squatting in the dark and went over to check out what they were doing. "Making pee!" they giggled. Oops. I probably shouldn't have interrupted. Anyway, when we were finished coloring, we stood and sang our Pharaoh song with motions, packed up the van, and headed home. Back in my apartment, I washed my hair two or three times to get all the sand out.

I love Kapi-I nights. I'm always exhausted, going into them, but return wired and fulfilled. It makes me think of how Jesus said that His "food" (or energy) comes from doing the will of His Father. Going to Kapi-I is the easy part of being a missionary. It's the fun part. It's the part that makes for good photos to be sent home. Therefore, it's that which starry-eyed idealists imagine when they're applying to serve overseas. And it is not disappointing. It's every bit as wonderful as the pictures and stories portray. Unfortunately, it only accounts for an hour of each (168 hour) week. But the other hours are for another time. As far as this one goes, I promise that it's every bit as romantic as the best of dreams.

Pride of the USA

Disclaimer: I am NOT a political scientist, sociologist, or economist, so I really don’t know what I’m talking about. I am a dabbler. And I’m a children’s Bible teacher… without technology. Anyone who knows anything about the above mentioned fields should proceed with huge amounts of grace. And please do tell me where I’m off base. Seriously.

The collective voice of the United States of America’s elite might be more like God’s than that of any powerful nation since Israel’s united kingdom under the great king David. Especially the democrats. Especially the ones on the coasts. Our founding fathers did a brilliant job of balancing power in the government and creating a constitution that provided its citizens the freedom of movement and creativity, thus promoting growth and maturity. Therefore, humanity in the United States is becoming more like the most perfect being we can imagine, which is God. Christians, Jews, Muslims, Hindus, Buddhists, Bahais, Pagans, Agnostics, and Atheists alike, are developing toward this ideal. Here’s how I see it…

A trillion years ago, God creates humankind to be a reflection of Him (oh, and I’m not a scientist, either). He created us in His image, and breathed His life into us, as stewards of His good world. We, however, didn’t want to be stewards. We wanted to be owners. We got it into our heads that we were capable of ruling ourselves. So we separated ourselves from the Creator-steward relationship we’d had with God. We’ve tried independence, and we’ve done a really sucky job. Sure, there have been bright lights of human goodness every now and again, but as a whole, we’ve bombed. I can think of very, very, very few exceptions to the rule that I learned in my political science classes: power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts, absolutely. Powerful groups of people exploit weaker groups to their own advantage. Almost always. Still, though, there’s something deep inside of us that knows this can’t be right. Like seedlings growing toward the sun, we reach toward goodness, selflessness, and love, despite our natural tendency to be selfish and tyrannical. We all desperately want to be good. And in the US, I think this acknowledgement of the evil of selfish power, and the desire to be good, to be the kinds of people that we somehow know we were meant to be, has somehow been able to grow.

Dressing down, producing good art, and theorizing about human goodness are all luxuries of the privileged. Dr. Richard Allen Farmer is the best dressed man I’ve ever known. He is also black. I remember him telling us that a white man is automatically taken seriously. But a black man always has to begin relationships by proving his legitimacy. I’ve noticed a similar phenomenon in Paraguay. Women tend to be very conscious of their appearance. They show their social standing through their make-up and dress. I, however, have nothing to prove. I’m a North American. I’m rich. Everyone knows it. So I can dress however I like while maintaining my respectability (I think… maybe not! J ). I think I might have been in a world history class when I learned that the level of cultural advancement can be measured by a people’s art. When they get beyond having to spend all of their energy on the necessities of life, time is freed up for creative pursuits. I wonder if a similar statement could be made about human goodness. When you know you don’t have to beat your neighbor to the store to get the last loaf of bread, you are a little more free to consider sharing as a means to making the world a better place. Typically, it’s not the poor peasants who have created the philosophical theories that have shaped political process. It’s been university students that have called for change. University students are among the privileged.

The balance of power, constitutional freedom, and material wealth have allowed citizens of the United States of America the luxury of thinking about, and growing toward their ideal. And I think they’re really close to achieving it. The universities in the US are calling for social change. They’re basically full of political lefties who think that we should use our power to help the less fortunate. They are championing the poor. I think this sentiment is from God. They reject power that exploits the masses for the benefit of a few, including them. They call for freedom. That’s from God, too. Jesus said that He came to provide freedom for the captives and good news for the oppressed. We want to care for the poor. So does God. We want to care for the environment. So does God. We want peace in the Middle East. So does God. We want freedom. And we realize that it’s not happening. We are trying to make it happen. We instinctively know that it should. We’re trying so hard. And we’re disillusioned because we see how messed up we still are. We oscellate between hope and despair. We all echo the cry of Ray Lamontagne, “How come? How come I can’t tell the free world from a living hell? How come?” We know that our freedom shouldn’t cause suffering on the other side of the world. “How come all I see is a child of God in misery? How come?” We know it shouldn’t be this way. And we’re committed to change. But how? Nothing is working. “It’s just man killing man killing man killing man killing man killing man. I don’t understand! How come?”

Sometimes we like to turn up Josh Ritter because there’s something in his anger that soothes our own. We join him in his accusations, “If God’s up there he’s in a cold dark room. The heavenly host are just the cold dark moons. He bent down and made the world in seven days. And since then He’s been walking away… if what’s loosed on earth will be loosed up on high, it’s a hell of a heaven we must go to when we die… ” We know something is wrong. Most of the suffering also know that something is wrong, but they’re not in the position to question it or consider affecting change. We, however, in the United States, know that something is wrong, and we feel responsibility to grow toward that light of our ideal, that all might live fulfilled and free. In this desire, we are a lot like God, minus the ability to bring it about, of course.

Our big Achiles’ heel, though, besides the roots that stubbornly dig down to secure our own comfort, pleasure, and position, is that age-old issue of independence. We were not created to be owners. We are not smart enough. We were created to be intelligent, but accountable stewards. None of us knows everything. Even the most intelligent of scientists study to discover that which they do not know. Through the middle ages, church leaders abused their power to manipulate and silence the masses. They intentionally kept them in ignorance. In response, we rose and claimed the right to direct our own destinies, rejecting submission to our human lords of knowledge. Like our commitment to securing a better future for collective humanity, this was like God. But we took it farther, submitting to no power, neither human nor divine, setting ourselves up as little individual gods of our own universe. And this has put us at odds with God, the Ideal with whom we have so much else in common. We have become like Him, because we were created to be like Him. But our insistence that we stand on equal footing will be our destruction. Throughout history, He has been faithful to His word, opposing the proud and giving grace to the humble. Let us take heed and submit ourselves to the benevolent but absolute authority of our God, the Creator and Owner of the heavens and the earth. If we refuse to acknowledge Him, we will bring our own destruction, no matter how godly we may become.